Untitled IbuKam drabble thing
by Rhythmic High
Summary: Ponderings on the meaning of friendship. Mostly Kamio POV.


**Untitled**  
By Nori  
Pairing: Ibu/Kamio  
Rating: PG-13  
Summary: Ponderings on the meaning of friendship.

Notes: brought this on by doing 100 word Rikkai drabbles at me and made me want to write drabbles. But um. yeah.

* * *

Kamio liked fast things. He liked bright, flashing lights; driving beats and the thrill of a race, adrenaline pumping through his veins. Despite a rather sporatic and chaotic existance, he also liked things that were dependable and constant. That certain brand of batteries that kept his MD player running for weeks at a time, the chime of the school bells; the claps on the back after a good practice, even the consistancy in which that loudmouthed Seigaku dunderhead would show up to ruin his day. And Shinji. Good old, dependable, always-be-there Shinji, blabbering the day away with some inane ramblings or complaining about something or another. It was comforting, in a way. ...when it wasn't just plain annoying.  
  
Kamio wasn't quite sure how he and Shinji had become friends to begin with, they'd never really spoken much before tennis club had started again for the new semester. They were all the new kids back then, constantly being pushed around by their upperclassman, forced to do all the dirty work and scorned by their coach.  
  
It'd become routine by the middle of the school year. Wake up, get dressed, go to morning practice. Chase balls, get screamed at, go to class. Lunch time was probably the only time the first years got to actually play, batting the balls back and forth between the courts. Then back to class until the bell chimed, and back to the courts for afternoon practice (three times a week, unless there was a tournament coming up).  
  
Same old shit, day in, day out. Warm ups, three hundred swings, thirty laps around a dusty court then back to fetch balls for the regulars. Any time one of the first years had gotten the courage to ask an upperclassman for a match, or even if they could use one of the courts for practice, the result was almost always the same. More often than not they would come out of a brawl (usually broken up by some teacher or other faculty member passing by) with cuts and bruises, pale skin scraped, dirty and bleeding.  
  
He'd gotten used to it, skinned joints scabbing over with crust only to be ripped open again the next day. It hurt, too, but he'd gotten to the point where he could just ignore it. It was harder though, if there was more than one of them on him. Pinning him down, stuffing his face in the dirt as the poked, prodded, punched and kicked. Kamio wouldn't let himself scream, his pride wouldn't let him. He'd refused to ask for help from his other teammates -- not that they didn't need help themselves, receiving much the same treatment. He didn't want to feel like he owed anyone anything.  
  
It'd been unexpected when it happened. Once again the first years were being bullied around, he himself thrown against a chainlink fence. He winced, eyes clenching shut in anticipation of the beating to come ...but it never came. He heard it, the sickening slap of a fist over flesh, a quiet cry of distress that wasn't his own. Cobalt orbs cracked open, sight landing on familiar long tresses.  
  
Shinji... Shinji had taken the hit for him. Why? _What the fuck are you doing?!_ His mind screamed, pale fist balling tightly. Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid Shinji! It was a blur after that, he couldn't remember much. A teacher must've broken it up again. The next thing Kamio knew he was kneeling next to the younger boy, fingers tentatively running over a bruised cheek.  
  
"You idiot."  
  
Shinji just blinked at him, not saying anything even though his mouth tried to form thoughts into words.  
  
"Why the hell'd you go and do that? If it wasn't me they were after it'd have been Uchimura, or Mori, or one of the other guys." he growled, lifting to his feet, a hand extended to help the other up. "Get up. Think your lip's busted, man."  
  
Shinji took the offered hand, pulling himself up and dusting off his pants. Stupid dust, got all over everything and was a pain in the ass to get out. Why couldn't the school spring for clay courts? Cheapskates.  
  
"Because you didn't deserve it. None of us do. We're all friends, right? Gotta stick together, keep an eye out for each other. Put our jackass senpai in their spots and maybe they'll actually let us play for once. They're sleazy, thinking their so much better than us when they won't even give us a chance. It's mean. We should report it to the administration because Kantoku doesn't seem to care, he lets them do it." He didn't seem to notice the small trail of blood beginning to clot on the edge of his lip, crimson staining his chin.  
  
_Friends, huh? Is that so?_ Kamio'd never really thought about it like that before. Comrades, sure. A group of pure hearted, if not a bit rag tag first years who's only wish was to play tennis and have fun with it. Not this bullshit ball-fetching for talentless regulars and errand boys for an uncaring coach.  
  
Now that he thought about it, it was probably then that they'd become friends. Not long after they'd gotten to the nurse and patched up, it was Shinji who first offered to play a friendly match with him over at the street courts one night after practice was over. Time wore on, they hung out more often; playing each other almost daily. Sometimes a couple of the other guys would tag along and play a doubles match; but most of the time it was just the two of them.  
  
Less than a month later, Tachibana had moved from Kyuushuu, causing an uproar in the Fudoumine tennis club and having the mens club temporarily put out of service. They hadn't been able to play the newcomers tournament, but to the team they felt it worth it. To start from scratch and build something new, something better than before; to them it was more than just an idle dream.  
  
But now, like this; fingers curled into long violet strands softly, quiet breaths exhaled from his sleeping partner against his chest, Kamio was thankful for the rough times. Somehow, in a way, if the whole mess had never happened, had he chosen not to take up tennis, had Shinji not been there, he wouldn't have him here, now.  
  
Someone he could depend on, to be there when he needed him without expecting anything in return. A true friend turned lover, one thing in a hectic life that Kamio didn't mind if it went slow, took its time to blossom into something new.  
  
Because hey, he had all the time in the world, right?  
  
It wasn't like he'd known he'd fall in love with the other boy, but maybe it wasn't so bad.  
  
They'd always joked around, teased each other about their current crushes or girlfriends; made perverted comments about this or that. The teasing and joking around had become something of a game, to see who could push who the farthest before they cracked and backed down.  
  
Shinji had kissed him first, and that was enough for him to back off, a blush spreading under a shock of red strands. It had gotten worse as time went on, kissing eventually leading to awkward touches and even more awkward words.  
  
Shinji had said it first, that the whole thing wasn't a game to him, that he was serious. Kamio had been scared, for a while, retreating into his shell. So. His best friend was gay, and wanted him? It probably scared more that he'd started feeling much the same. Enjoying the sparks of pleasure dancing across his skin whenever Shinji touched him, drinking in the perfect sounds the other boy made, soft grunts and heaves as he chased the ball around the court. Seeming to want more with each passing day, because it was Shinji, and probably only for that one reason.  
  
A slender hand petted through long strands, cobalt eyes slipping closed. It was nice, the feel of warm breaths against a naked chest, long tendrils of hair dancing and tickling over pale skin. Soft, sleepy murmurs bubbling from Shinji's lips as he shifted closer, an arm tightening possessively around Kamio's waist.  
  
To want, to be wanted, to trust, to be trusted, to give and receive just as much back. It was a simple relationship, really. Their friendship bound them together more than anything, as it had for quite a while. From the very beginning it had been friends first, lovers second.  
  
But what was he thinking about this for? They both had what they wanted, right there in their arms.  
  
And it was there to stay, to never change from the norm. 


End file.
